


Family Meeting

by WinterTheWriter



Series: The Oncoming Slut [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Budding Romance, Cunnilingus, F/F, Family Fluff, Fluff, Humor, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, guess who's back back back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 05:53:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17761037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterTheWriter/pseuds/WinterTheWriter
Summary: The morning after Yaz and the Doctor accidentally bang with the door open, and the events that follow.





	Family Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> okay y'all win this is now a thing. i can't give you an update schedule because i am busy but there WILL BE MORE and no i will not be taking constructive criticism on this series' name, it is perfect

“So…you an’ the Doctor, huh?” Ryan asks Yaz casually over breakfast, the very first words anyone has spoken that morning. The Doctor opts not to cut in for once, fighting back her amusement as she watches Graham take a long, long swig of tea and Yaz stare wide-eyed back at Ryan. 

“Uuuuuuhhhhhhh….,” Yaz responds. 

Graham takes another sip of tea. 

Ryan blinks. 

The Doctor picks at a bit of bacon on her plate as she tries not to smile. 

Finally, though, Yaz seems to catch up with herself and she straightens up in her chair, closes her gaping mouth, and fixes Ryan with a look the Doctor can only describe as “police-y.” “Yeah,” she says, grabbing the Doctor’s hand and holding it on the table. “Yeah, me an’ the Doctor.” 

Ryan hums thoughtfully and nods, eyebrows raised, looking over at Graham. Graham finally puts his mug down and smiles kindly, albeit awkwardly, at Yaz and the Doctor. “Now, I don’t want you two to think we ain’t happy for you or somethin’, ‘cause we are. Aren’t we, son?”

Nodding in agreement, Ryan mumbles, “Saw that comin’ a mile off,” under his breath and gets a subtle under-the-table kick from Yaz for his efforts. Graham elects to ignore that comment and continues. 

“/But/,” he wheedles out, “it /might/ be best for us all if, er, you had the…bedroom door shut. For certain. Activities.” 

“In our defense, we didn’t /notice/ we didn’t have the door shut. Otherwise we would’ve done, right, Yaz?” The Doctor squeezes Yaz’s hand with a grin but she just shuts her eyes tightly and sighs. 

“Right, well, in the /future/, perhaps we’ll pay a bit more attention?” Graham cajoles, a little desperately. 

“Please,” Ryan deadpans. “Please. Because after what I heard last night, I’m /never/ gettin’ that image out of me head.” 

“Why do you hear images, Ryan?” The Doctor asks, like an asshole.

“Why are you the worst, Doctor?” Ryan shoots back, like an adult. 

“It’s all the genocide, you see.”

“The /what/?”

Yaz and Graham shoot each other long-suffering looks across the table. 

“/Anyways/, yes, Graham. The Doctor and I promise to be far more careful going forward. We /both/ are truly sorry for what was…overheard. Right, Doctor?”

“Right! Right, yes. Humans and your sensibilities. I’m very, very sorry and will make sure we do better in the future.” 

“Good!” Graham claps his hands together once and beams at them. “And look at you two — all happy and glow-y. Even if the circumstances were a bit off, I’m glad something good has come.” 

Ryan and the Doctor meet each other’s eye at the exact same time as the exact same joke goes through their heads. Yaz loudly clears her throat to prevent whatever that may be from being said aloud. 

“So…meeting adjourned?” Yaz asks hopefully. 

“Yeah! And actually, Doc, if you don’t mind, me and Ryan wanted to pop home for a spell. Both got things we need to take care of, work and errands and stuff.”

“I /really/ don’t think she minds,” Ryan laughs. Graham shoots him a Granddad Look that only works a little. He’s right, though. The Doctor /really/ doesn’t mind. 

Yaz is still holding her hand. 

~

Once they’re alone, it takes approximately 5 minutes and 37 seconds for Yaz to be pressed against the TARDIS’ console (much like their first time), pants down, and moaning into empty air as the Doctor fucks her tongue into her, slow and tantalizing. Yaz knots her fingers into the Doctor’s hair and grips tightly, eyes squeezed shut at the sensations sparking through her. With a low hum, the Doctor slides a hand up Yaz’s calf before suddenly gripping the back of her knee and pulling up until it rests on the Doctor’s shoulder.

Oh, that is /brilliant./ 

“Doctor,” Yaz gasps out, high pitched and reedy with pleasure. She rocks her hips desperately against that tongue, head thrown back. Already her thighs are starting to shake, sweat pooling on her lower back and slick dripping obscenely, she’s sure, down the Doctor’s face. “Doctor, fuck, fuck, don’t stop—.”

The Doctor cups the cheeks of her arse to pull her in tighter, tongue moving from its slow, curling assault along her inner walls to circle around her clit instead, finding just where Yaz needs it and focusing with devastating precision. Yaz can feel one of the Doctor’s hands moving towards the front, no doubt preparing to add her fingers to the mix, but it’s too much, too good. 

Yaz comes with a loud and drawn out sob of the Doctor’s name as her hands fly back to white-knuckle grip the sides of the console, her one planted leg wobbling as she shakes and shudders into pleasure. 

As soon as she gathers the very first of her bearings, Yaz pushes the Doctor away to sink to her knees in front of her, cupping damp cheeks and licking the remnants of her own slick from the Doctor’s face. With a near-helpless moan at the feeling, the /filth/ of it, the Doctor moans and grips Yaz’s shirt, yanking her closer until Yaz gives in and kisses her properly. Especially for a third time, the way Yaz undoes the Doctor’s trousers and dips her hand inside is /expert/, thumb pressing quick, rubbing circles over the Doctor’s clit as she twists her wrist to press two fingers into her heat. 

And Yaz thought /she/ was the wet one. 

The Doctor’s knees spread against the grated TARDIS floor, instinctive, and this unfortunately makes her trousers too tight to fuck with. Yaz works with her (teamwork!) to push them down her thighs and the little gasping mewls she gets in return, well, they’re the most beautiful music in the universe. It doesn’t take long, which Yaz would be smug about if she weren’t too busy being entranced by the ecstasy-hazed look on the Doctor’s face, her bright eyes shining and staring right into Yaz’s, hooded with pleasure they may be. There’s so much emotion in those eyes, so many questions, so many answers. 

Yaz ducks her head to suck and kiss along the Doctor’s neck, smirking against the sex-warmed skin as the Doctor’s grip on her arms gets tighter and tighter with every near-brutal fuck of her fingers. Everything smells warm and intimate, unquestionably sexual and heady, and oh, how Yaz wants to bathe in that smell, wrap herself up in the Doctor always and forever, destroy any separation with extreme, extreme prejudice. 

They’re just fucking. 

With a sudden, sharp moan, the Doctor tosses her head back and clamps down onto Yaz’s fingers, riding them desperately as her orgasm tramples over her. Yaz hears her chanting, “yes, yes, yes, yes,” barely at a whisper (or is it her name?) and oh no, Yaz thinks she might well and truly be fucked. 

~

The Doctor’s long coat makes for a usual temporary bed. Yaz adjusts herself on it as she rests her head on the Doctor’s shoulder, arm across her stomach. She delights, with a small sigh, the feeling of strong and gentle fingers stroking tender paths across her upper back, the top of her arm, and delights even more at the soft kiss that’s pressed to her forehead. But the Doctor is silent. Suspiciously silent. No sweet-talk, no praise, nothing. Sure, there’s obvious affection and care in her touch, how she cradles Yaz close, but…Yaz isn’t so sure she likes her going quiet anymore. Not like this. 

“You’re amazing, you know,” Yaz tells her, soft enough to match the look she must have on as she gazes up at the Doctor, tightens her arm around her just slightly. She smiles a little for emphasis, and because how can you not at that beautiful, silly face? The Doctor meets her gaze and smiles back but it’s hollow, sad.

“I’m the last of my kind, Yaz,” she responds. It’s a sudden enough change of subject to shock the smile from Yaz’s face, but she doesn’t look away. The Doctor does. “Do you want to know why?” 

“…D’you want to tell me?” 

That gets a little attempt at a laugh from the Doctor as she gently extracts herself from under Yaz to sit up, heedless of her disheveled, half-removed clothing as she stares into the gentle yellow of the TARDIS’ console. “Always so caring. Always trying to take care of me.” 

With a frown, Yaz sits up with her, running what she hopes is a soothing hand up the Doctor’s spine. “Of course, Doctor. Of course always. It’ll never not be always.” 

“I killed them.” Yaz’s hand freezes. The Doctor turns to look at her, all of a sudden seeming so ancient, so alien — something she’d only seen a hint of after they faced that Dalek. “Every last one of my own kind, Yaz. I killed them. Destroyed my home planet with all of them on it.” 

“I don’t…,”

“Everyone. Adults, children, the poor, the rich, the sick…/everyone/. I made the conscious decision to do so, for the betterment of the universe.” 

Yaz’s mouth is dry, but not for a good reason anymore. She forces her hand to stay on the Doctor’s rapidly cooling skin, swallowing thickly around the instinctive ball of revulsion and fear in her chest. “Did you need to?” she asks quietly. 

“Probably.”

Probably. 

A tear runs down the Doctor’s cheek and Yaz watches it without brushing it away. “Some of those children were m—…,” she cuts herself off, but Yaz can guess what she was going to say, “…and I still did it. I really did believe it was the only way, but I did it. And if I had to, Yaz, if I really and truly had to, I’d do it again.” 

Even though her physical movement is minuscule, Yaz watches as the Doctor seems to curl in on herself, those beautiful eyes now burning with self-turned rage and despair. Yaz thinks about what that must have been like, to make such a terrible decision — the worst decision in the universe, the very, very worst. She thinks about how she’d have to live with it forever, carry it around everywhere she goes, for a lifetime as long as the Doctor’s. 

Oh, she must be so lonely. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Yaz quietly asks her, scooting closer until their sides are flush together. “Why now?”

“Because I’ve been selfish. I’ve done it before, and I’m doing it again, and I refuse to drag you down like that.” The Doctor turns towards her, bringing up a hand to cup Yaz’s cheek and stroke her thumb across the bone. “You deserve so much better than any part of me, Yasmin Khan.” 

Yaz is quiet for several seconds. And then…, “I beg your pardon?” 

Stunned at the cold tone, the Doctor blinks at her. Yaz sucks her teeth, nods to herself, and then tilts her head to the side in the way someone only does when they’re really, /really/ pissed. “Who…the /hell/ do you think you are telling me what I do and don’t deserve? Where do you get off in pretending I’m some hapless child you’ve seduced to feed your /pity party/?” 

“Yaz, I—,”

“Oh no. No, no, no. You’ve said quite enough, ta.” Yaz shifts so she’s kneeling up, trying to look as big and angry as she can with sex hair and no pants on as she jabs a finger into the Doctor’s shoulder. “I am a grown woman, do you hear me? I am an intelligent, /sentient/ being more than capable of choosing a partner for meself without knowin’ every last thing about them, and I am /certainly/ not as easy to manipulate as you think I am! Oh, you’ve been selfish, hmm? By /allowing/ me to fuck you? Well, la-dee-da, you didn’t seem so powerful when I was makin’ you cry on a silicone dick last night! And another thing— wh… why. Why are you laughing?” 

The Doctor is too busy laughing to answer. Though /giggling/ is a more accurate term, muffled in her hand as her shoulders shake with it. Yaz crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow at her with the universal expression of substitute teachers everywhere. “I’ll wait.” 

“Sorry, sor—sorry, ‘m not laughing /at/ you, I swear,” the Doctor promises around bursts of giggles. “It’s just — I told you I committed mass genocide and me saying I was selfish for sleeping with you is what gets you angry.” She shakes her head fondly, eyes still sad as she looks up at Yaz finally, but a bit brighter. 

“Because it’s bullshit!”

“Yes, I’m gathering that.”

Yaz frowns at her. The Doctor sobers herself up and swallows, her smile turning bashful. “I’m sorry, Yaz. I’m sorry. You’re right. You need to know how brilliant you are to me, how much you mean. I don’t ever want to give you the impression of anything else. I’m just not exactly someone easy to…relate to. Putting it mildly.” 

“Doctor, listen. Regardless of what you did or how old you are, it is not up to you how others feel. If I have feelings for you — which I do —,” alright, well, Yaz hadn’t intended to say that bit, moving right along, “ then that’s /my/ prerogative. Even if it ends badly, it doesn’t mean you should have lorded yourself over me to save my precious human heart. Y’get me?”

The Doctor purses her lips, very obviously keeping an argument in, and nods her head. She picks at a loose thread on her jacket under her and doesn’t look old anymore. In fact, she looks very, very young. Yaz’s heart twinges as she settles next to her again, wrapping an arm around the Doctor’s shoulders. “Y’don’t owe me your darkest secrets, either. I’ll listen to ‘em, and hold them safe if you want them out of you, but you don’t owe me your shame and regret just to get with me. …And if you /ever/ pull that trick on me again, trying to scare me away from you or something, I /can and will/ bring Graham into this to scold you properly.” They both share a little laugh at that, but Yaz can feel the Doctor relax and lean into her.

“It’s been a very long time since someone’s put me in my place that quickly,” the Doctor admits, head resting on Yaz’s shoulder.   
“Yeah, well,” Yaz kisses the top of the Doctor’s head and rubs her upper arm, “that’s what I’m here for.”

“…I’m glad you’re here, Yaz. I hope you are for a very, very long time.”

“Me too, Doctor. Me too.”


End file.
